Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!

Chapter Three

Seeing Double

Sherlock was stiff and completely still as he tried to process how he could be hearing his own voice behind him. He refused to contemplate the obvious solution. There couldn't possibly be two of him.

He refused to look as hurried steps fled from the room.

Molly gave him a fleeting glance filled with confusion and hurt before she ran after the other man.

"Sherlock, wait! Please, it's not what it looks like!"

There was a slam, as though the front door have been shut just as it was opened. Molly must have reached him before he could escape.

There was a cursing. "How long?" Sherlock's deep voice demanded, laced with the sting of betrayal and anger. He didn't await an answer before continued, "Bloody Hell, and you used to worry that I was going to get get bored with you. Some bloody joke that was." His tone was filled with a mocking spite. Sherlock could see the sneer etched on his own face - because what other face would he use, with his voice filling the flat?

Another slam, as Sherlock tried to depart and Molly stopped him.

"Sherlock, stop!"

There was a heavy thump against the wall, and a startled, pained whine.

Molly's whine.

It was that sad, desolate sound that shook Sherlock from his frozen stupor. He turned for the hall, rushing, only to come to a halt as his eyes fell upon the scene before him.

Molly, sunk to the floor with her back pressed against the wall, clutching her head in her hands. She'd obviously knocked it against the wall quite forcefully when Sherlock - the other Sherlock - had shoved her out of the way, or possibly just away.

The other Sherlock knelt in front of her, his hands hesitantly hovering over hers. He knew the expression he wore. He made it several times himself, whenever his temper or anger flared, and he accidentally hurt someone he cared about. He didn't know his own strength when he got truly mad. As it was, the other Sherlock's anger was replaced with concern and regret at the harm he'd done. Hurting Molly had not been his intention, no matter his actions or his agitation.

His concern shifted again from concern to confusion as he looked up, ready to curse his wife's apparent extramarital lover, only to be met with himself.

Molly groaned softly as she looked between the two as they sized each other up for the few differences between them. Now that she looked herself, there were a few.

Her Sherlock had a tiny ghosting of grey hair mixed in with his lovely raven curls. Just a few, but it gave him a slight silvered look about him that spoke of a future as a magnificent silver fox, destined to turn heads for years to come. His eyes were also somehow softer, a few wrinkles and laugh lines where there were none on the other. He had a small scar on his wrist as well, from two years ago when he'd taken a knife from a criminal he'd been pursuing.

Then there was their clothes. Her Sherlock was indeed wearing the burgundy dress shirt and black slacks she'd seen him off in, as opposed to the other's navy one.

And the wedding band on her husband's left hand. A lovely simple silver band. The thing that set it apart was the fingerprint in black facing upwards on the band. It was actually her fingerprint, as they'd had the rings custom made with this. Her wedding ring had his fingerprint on it.

"I tried to tell you, you idiot," she finally said, breaking the boy's concentration on each other and drawing two identical slightly-frowning expressions her way.

The Sherlock in front of her nodded slightly, easily acquiescing to her insult. It was completely justified, and a blank expression concealed his anguish at his actions.

Molly lowered her hands after another moment, the ache of hitting her head fading, and Sherlock cupped her cheeks gently. "I'm sorry." The apology left his lips so quietly, that the other in the hall could scarcely hear it. "I should have known better."

Molly hummed her agreement as he learned forward to kiss her brow softly.

The simple intimate action left Sherlock feeling an intruder to the display. It didn't last long, thankfully.

Sherlock - the other Sherlock? The married Sherlock? - helped Molly up from the ground before turning to face his duplicate.

"Perhaps we should discuss this in the living room. I'll make tea. Molly, why don't you check on Cherise?" He gave her another peck on her forehead, and then swept from the hall.

Sherlock frowned. Surely he wasn't that dramatic all the time.

"Yes you are,"

His eyes flitted back to Molly, frowning. "How -"

"Your nose twitches when you judge someone's flair," she replied before he could finish, giving him a wane smile.

From there, it was an awkward silence, that spanned several long agonizing seconds, which drifted into minutes. Neither of them seemed willing to budge first, or break eye contact.

Only the whistling of a kettle and a baby's high pitched shrieking broke it.

Molly rushed past Sherlock, who was again struck still.

A baby. Of course he'd registered it, deduced from the cradle and the toys and baby proofing. The quilt from the crib had been familiar. It struck him how of course it was familiar - it was made with the same love and care as his own when he was a child. It was probably made by the same hands that had crafted his own. His mother liked to make patchwork after all.

The baby's cries grew softer and eventually dwindled down to nothing. Molly's coos could be heard in the side room - the baby's room - and Sherlock could hear the other one clattering cups onto a tray in the kitchen as the kettle silenced as well.

With nowhere to go and no idea what the devil was going on - though he had some extremely far-fetched explanations - he went to the living room, sat down in the armchair, put his elbows on his knees, and put his hands together and his fingers to his lips as he tried to make sense of it.

Nothing made sense.

But his age old rule played through his mind. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

The only truth he could see though, was beyond improbable. Time travel didn't exist.

Right?

Thanks so much to everyone who's read this fic, and the lovely reviewers, Mistykins06, Rose of Zakarisz, Renaissancebooklover108, and Valhara! Thank ya'll soo much!

This work was renamed, as it says in the description! Don't get confused! XD

And thank you to my beta, Liathwen! 3

Until Next time! :*